


Chap's Hannibal Vignette Collection

by chapscher



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Vignette, although not all in the same fic, hannishark, most at different points in a hannigram relationship, oh my god could you imagine?, season one flirtations, some crack some semi-serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13963701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapscher/pseuds/chapscher
Summary: A series of short one-shots first posted on tumblr. Some crack, some serious, mostly Hannigram-centered. Chapters include links to the images and conversations story was born from.





	1. The Tenured Professor

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to an imageset posted by [sungl0ry](http://sungl0ry.tumblr.com/post/121039485338/they-applauded-it-was-inappropriate-i), depicting Hannibal and Will both giving academic presentations.
> 
>  
> 
> [link to post with story](http://hungry-chapscher.tumblr.com/post/157498906432/sungl0ry-they-applauded-it-was-inappropriate)

_Teaching Assistant and doctoral candidate Will/Tenured professor Hannibal_

* * *

Will Graham was about to leave the lecture hall, for good this time. He had heard horror stories about Dr. Lecter; how he was endlessly intimidating and had written entire books disproving the research of his colleagues. The other doctoral candidates say that the only reason why the university keeps him around is because he manages to rake in an absurd amount of money. “He’s sadistic,” his advisor had said, the memory of her voice speaking clearly in his head as he collected his things and headed towards the exit twenty-minutes early. “But he’s also always right.”

Will wasn’t sure if he believed any of that. From what he had seen, Dr. Lecter wasn’t that interesting. When Will decided to take the position of teaching assistant for his class he thought that it would be a challenge, but the professor had barely let him do anything. All he was supposed to do was monitor the online discussions and mark down who was and was not participating. Dr. Lecter barely spoke to him directly, even after Will had given him an draft of his dissertation six weeks ago on his request. Not a single word was exchanged between them about his research and today he had a meeting scheduled with Dr. Crawford to discuss the possibility of a mid-semester reassignment.

“It is here,” Dr. Lecter said as he turned to change slides, “That we must step away from Dante for the time being as I turn your attention to John Milton and the work of my colleague, Mr. Graham.”

Will stopped in the middle of the hall. Was he to lecture? He turned back to the lectern and the ten-foot tall projection of the fallen angel, Dr. Lecter standing beneath it.

“What Graham draws our attention to here is how pivotal the reader’s sympathy with Lucifer is in understanding the role of man in Paradise Lost. Observe how closely we follow his journey from Tartarus to Eden and how much of the Angelic War is revealed though us through his perspective. How essential it is to see existence through his eyes. To sympathize with him. To ask ourselves what we would do with creation when we have lost so much. What would you do?”

Dr. Lecter turned away from the projection and looked directly down at Will, his face partially obscured by the beautiful fallen angel with great black wings.

“Or, as he has so eloquently put it…” Dr. Lecter said, his gaze so arresting that Will was unable to move. “What is your design?” 


	2. The Tale of Princess Hannibal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A crackfic about Princess Hannibal, originally presented with images of my 1/6 scale Hannibal doll in a variety of dresses I found in a shoebox in the back of my closet
> 
>  
> 
> [link to post](http://hungry-chapscher.tumblr.com/post/165139471042/the-tale-of-princess-hannibal-guess-what-i-found)

_The Tale of Princess Hannibal_

* * *

 

“What a fool you have become,” Princess Hannibal thought to himself as he finished his wine and began taking off his dressing gown. “You have been courted by dozens of princes from many lands and here you are, thinking of nothing but Sir William. He should be a mere knight, but to me he is sheer beauty and worth all the gold in the world.”

Although he adored his new gown, Princess Hannibal found himself donning his dressing shirt once again. “I must ask King Jack if Knight Will intends to join us at the ball tonight. This would be wasted if he were not there.”

 

Sir Will’s absence worried Princess Hannibal. So, surprising even himself, Hannibal left the ball under the cover of night; armed with a blade to quickly silence any guard who dare try to escort him back to the palace. He pulled his capelet tight around him as he made his way through the gardens and towards the woods.

...

Princess Hannibal did not find his beloved Sir William that night. Nor did he the many nights after, when he crept out of the castle in the moonlight. He confronted and killed guard after guard, determined to do whatever he could to see his sweet William once more.

Until he finally met his match.

Princess Hannibal was taken back to the palace, his murderous ways exposed to King Jack. However, the king knew how valuable Princess Hannibal was to the people. So, instead of banishing him, King Jack had a special prison built that could hold the princess. And there he was kept, restless as he was shut away from the galas and festivals and, most importantly, Sir William.

He took his time planning an elaborate escape, but it all came crashing down on him when one evening a messenger came to the princess’ cell.

“I am sorry, your royal highness. But we have found the armor of Sir William. Bloody and battered outside of the den of dragons. He loved his dragons so dearly, but it seems as if they have been his demise.”

Princess Hannibal was heartbroken.

With all the dangers in the kingdom he had never once thought that his brave and handsome knight would fall at the claws of the beasts he tamed and loved so dearly. This clearly wasn’t the work of any ordinary dragon. No, this had an evil presence and a dark magic behind it.

And Princess Hannibal knew exactly who were responsible.

Looking up to the distant mountain he could see their evil lair.

There was The Phantom, a cruel warlock who punished those who loved too dearly. Then there was Excalibur, a fearsome dragon who had once burnt every crop in the kingdom when King Jack refused to give him the gold he demanded. Then there was the unholy Furb, a demon whose satanic language was known to make any knight or king weep in terror. They protected the four sacred sigils, which had once held the secrets to peace and prosperity.

And as he looked upon the horrible bright mountain he was struck with hope. Sir William was not dead, only taken. He may be far away. He may have been transported to a different world and a different time with the vile magic of The Phantom or the horrific curse of Furb, but he was out there. Somewhere. And Princess Hannibal was determined to find him.


	3. Mischa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A serious short story posted in response to an imageset posted by [the-way-im-feeling](http://the-way-im-feeling.tumblr.com/post/165128082735/268-540px), depicting a scene from Die Tür where a young girl on a beach runs to Mads, who kneels for her with outstretched arms. Story is unrelated to Die Tür (as far as I know) and takes place post-"The Wrath of the Lamb". 
> 
> [link to post](http://hungry-chapscher.tumblr.com/post/165408272352/the-way-im-feeling-268-540px)

_Mischa_

* * *

Hannibal tasted salt, sand, and blood on his lips as he lay on the shore, water washing over his legs and pooling around his shoulders. A disarming pain radiated through his body and behind closed eyes he could see the night sky brighten to a clear blue. Detached from his body he could feel himself stand, as if his legs were already mended from the fall. The cliff he fell from had vanished, replaced by a long beach of white sand.

“Hannibal?”

The voice was close and for a brief second the sky was swallowed by night, the world spinning as he felt the sand beneath him again. A hand cradled the side of his face but soon disappeared and he found himself standing on that beach once more. He immediately forgot the night and the hand, only remembering that someone had called his name.

“Hannibal?”

And that’s when he saw her. Mischa: just as he had remembered her. She was barefoot and smiling as she ran to him across the sands.

As if that teacup had never broken. As if that pain was never felt. There was no reason to want to go back to a “before” because it was all “now.”

All here.

He fell to his knees, the once distant concepts of relief and salvation filling his lungs like freezing waters. Tears brimmed his eyes and left him speechless as he outstretched his arms. He remembered so clearly the sensation of her small form colliding with his chest, arms wrapping around him as he let her tackle him to the ground. They were only children then but he could remember it, and with each step she took towards him that memory grew stronger and stronger with anticipation. He could see her clearly now, her broad smile glistening in her eyes and cheeks.  
  
She was so close. Almost in his arms.  
  
A powerful force hit his chest and night shuttered around him. He was on his back again, sand clinging to wet skin and legs unable to move. Before he could look for Mischa and wonder what collided with him if not her, he felt it again. Ribs cracked under the assault and he felt water somewhere behind his nose and above his throat. Again it hit.  
  
And again.  
  
Will backed away as Hannibal turned onto his side, coughing salt water onto the sand and gagging on rising bile. Hannibal trembled as he audibly gasped air into his lungs. Simply breathing was painful and difficult as he lay there on the sand, focused on air and water. He barely felt the hand on his shoulder but after a long moment of struggle Hannibal became aware of its warmth.

“I don’t know where to go from here,” Will said.

Hannibal couldn’t move, let alone speak. The gunshot wound in his stomach kept him from sitting up and the threat of choking kept him from lying on his back. Instead he lay propped up on his side, grateful for steady breaths. He closed his eyes and tried to remember… something. He wasn’t sure what. He had been dreaming before Will preformed CPR, but what that dream was about was lost to him. Lost somewhere between the waves and the line of sea foam on the shore.

Everything about it felt hazy and was quickly fading. But he could remember being someplace far away. He remembered relief.

He remembered a clear blue sky.

But that was all.


	4. Lucid Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crack eroticism. Posted in response to [avegetariancannibal](http://avegetariancannibal.tumblr.com/post/167733516349/messy-scandinoodle-avegetariancannibal), who made the very correct observation that "Will Graham having a nightmare mostly looks like he’s getting a bj from a ghost or somethin"
> 
> [link to post](http://hungry-chapscher.tumblr.com/post/167740351682/avegetariancannibal-messy-scandinoodle)

_Lucid Dreaming_

* * *

Hannibal set his pad of paper aside and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward. “How often does this… experience occur?”

Will bit his lip and shrugged. “Every night for the past week, and sometimes more than once a night. I considered telling you about it last session but I thought it would go away. I’m starting to worry that I may be subconsciously sexually aroused by these murders I keep seeing.”

Hannibal tilted his head, his mind swimming as he imagined Will with blood coating his hands and an obvious erection straining against the confines of his trousers. Filing the image away for later, he stood.

“I think there are physical causes for this phenomenon,” Hannibal said. “Causes that should be explored before we call upon the dead religion of Freudian psychology.”

“Physical causes?” Will repeated as Hannibal approached him. “Do you think it’s a side effect to my sleeping pills? Or is it a prostate thing? Should I go to the clinic or… Doctor?”

Hannibal stood between Will’s spread legs, looking down at him. Usually he thought it rude for men to sit with too wide of a stance, but when it came to Will he was willing to read it as an invitation.

“I’m not sure yet,” Hannibal said. “You’ll have to describe this hallucination to me in greater detail, as where it is focused may have to do with different physical symptoms. For example, if you felt mostly a tongue prodding against your urethral opening, then the problem may be urinary. If you felt a mouth sucking against your scrotum then the problem may be testicular. If you felt lips brushing against your frenulum then you may have a dermatological condition.”

Will’s cheeks were flushed a faint red. “My what?”

“The small ridge of tissue on the underside of your penis that connects the foreskin to the ‘head,’ as it’s often called. It can be incredibly sensitive.”

“I’m circumcised.”

Hannibal hummed in his throat, making a note to change his mental images before leaning forward so his lips were only inches away from Will’s ear. “And, of course, I would have no idea where to start if every night you felt a skilled tongue cover every inch of your hard, needy cock.”

Hannibal smiled to himself as he heard a soft gasp under him. He straightened his back and looked down at Will, his blush darker and spreading to his ears.

“If I may,” Hannibal said. “I would like to run a few tests of my own before recommending you to a specialist.”

“What kind of tests?”

Hannibal got to his knees between Will’s legs and looked down at the faint outline of his cock, already hard from their conversation.

“Tests I’m sure you will enjoy, Will Graham.” He unfastened the buckle of Will’s belt and Will looked down at him with familiar half-lidded eyes and trembling breaths. “Tell me if it felt anything like this…”


	5. The Shape of Hannibal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short story inspired by The Shape of Water and [camilleflyingrotten's gorgeous image of Hannishark](http://camilleflyingrotten.tumblr.com/post/171828668831/will-graham-is-the-guardian-of-a-light-house).
> 
> [link to post](http://hungry-chapscher.tumblr.com/post/171834890287/camilleflyingrottenwill-graham-is-the-guardian-of)

_The Shape of Hannibal_

* * *

Hannibal awoke in a small cramped place with not much water. The walls were smooth, smoother even than the underside of the fishing boats at the docks. The water barely covered him, but there was thankfully enough for him to dip his head under and breathe deep. It was warmer than he was used to and not quite as salty, but it was good to feel it fill his lungs once more.

It was then that he remembered what had happened.

There was a beautiful old ship that frequented the harbor, with a wooden frame, a handsome golden figurehead, and white sails that glistened in the moonlight. No human aboard it had ever truly appreciated its splendor. Instead they blasted their music, its bass reverberating deep into the ocean. They spilled their vodka and vomited booze and shrimp. Hannibal had often climbed up the side of the ship as his victim slouched, dry heaving in their last moments before Hannibal sunk his claws into their necks and dragged them down into the sea.

He had been about to take another victim that night when his hand tangled in an old net that had been hanging over the gunwale. The human saw him, drunkenly startled backwards, and called for someone to come over. Hannibal decided to take his chances with the net in the ocean rather than try to immediately free himself and risk anyone else seeing him.

He knew how volatile humans could be, especially when confronted with something they could never understand.

Hannibal fell back into the sea and became more tangled as he tried to swim away. The net wrapped around his neck and caught on his foot and soon he was at the mercy of the tides. Choking, Hannibal struggled towards the shore, thinking that the net would be easier to escape out of the water. He remembered the lighthouse. He remembered the gales that came out of nowhere. He remembered the massive wave that slammed his body into the rocks.

His mind was brought back to the room as a warm hand gently took his own. It was soft, like most humans’, but calloused and didn’t seem to recoil as whoever it was lightly caressed Hannibal’s rough skin. Hannibal looked up and saw a man sitting beside him. He was stunning. He was the exact image sculptors imagine when they try in vein to accurately depict beauty. And when the man smiled at Hannibal, Hannibal wanted nothing more than to see him every day for the rest of his life.

“You’re awake,” the man said, his voice low and gentle. “I’ll bring you back to the water after I finish patching you up. You’re okay. You’ll be alright.”

Two dogs were at the man’s side. One sniffed at Hannibal and the other watched them and panted quietly, tail thumping against a tile floor. Hannibal sat up, transfixed and studying the man’s face. He wanted to remember every curve and every color of him.

The man picked up a bottle at his side marked with a red cross, opened it, and poured the contents over the open wounds on Hannibal’s palm. Whatever the liquid was, it stung.

It stung horribly.

Hannibal quickly pulled his hand out of the man’s grasp and instinctively swiped at him. The dogs barked and the man fell backwards onto the floor, his white shirt blossoming blood. One of the dogs growled and the man took it by his collar and got to his feet. Hannibal stood too, his body towering over the man. The dogs barked louder and through the walls Hannibal could hear even more dogs joining in. The man rushed the two dogs to the door and quickly ushered them out as Hannibal stepped out of the water. The man looked back at Hannibal and in that second of hesitation Hannibal slammed the door shut, standing between the man and the only exit.

The man backed away, trembling and with tears in his eyes. Hannibal reached for him and for the first time noticed the cloth bandages wrapped around his other hand. He stopped and looked down at the bottle the man used on him. It lay in a box Hannibal hadn’t seen before, also marked with a red cross and with a roll of cloth bandages inside it.

The man was backed against the wall, breathing short, terrified breaths as Hannibal used his claws to remove the buttons of the bloodstained shirt. Even frightened the man was exceptionally handsome, his chest rapidly rising and falling in his panicked state. Hannibal made a soothing sound with his breath, tongue, and teeth. The sound of waves against a distant shore. The man seemed to understand and calmed down enough for Hannibal to inspect the wound on his chest. It was shallow, nothing like what he does to the drunk humans who thrashed against him in the water. The wound probably wouldn’t even leave a scar, but the man still looked like he wanted to run away.

Hannibal made the sound again and took the man gently by his hands.

“You’ll be alright,” Hannibal said.

The man seemed surprised that Hannibal could speak at all and offered little resistance as Hannibal led him back to the water. Perhaps, Hannibal speculated, as curious about him as he was about the man. The man got in first and Hannibal motioned him to lie down. He obeyed, the water making his white clothes translucent and cling to his skin. Hannibal stepped in with him, water displacing around them and onto the tile floor. There was hardly enough room for one of them, let alone both. But Hannibal didn’t mind that. He wrapped his arms around the man, cradling his smaller frame and enjoying the warmth of his mammalian body heat. At first the man seemed nervous, but Hannibal kept making the sound of a distant seashore and the man slowly started to relax.

The man nudged a metal lever on the wall with his foot and water rained down on them from a faucet near the ceiling. It was a controlled and peaceful rain that fell over his gills. Hannibal sighed, content as the moment of misunderstanding and panic slowly faded away. The man closed his eyes and nuzzled against Hannibal’s chest, letting long, clawed fingers lace into the angelic curls of his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


End file.
